Page 25 of The Rebel's Prize

Hopefully their first stop in a town large enough to buy dresses wasn't too many days away. Until then, she was just going to have to make do.

She waited under a shady tree, fanning herself idly with a piece of fallen bark, when Lucien loomed up by her side.

"Did you eat enough?" He'd headed off to speak to Mali after finishing his own meal, and Silya had returned to their wagon, clearly preferring the cool but insisting that she didn't need Chloe's company to finish the glass of cold tea she'd taken with her.

"Yes," she said firmly. "I'm fine."

He nodded. "Good. Mali wanted to know if perhaps you'd want to ride for a while this afternoon? We won't stop again before tonight's camp, barring anything unexpected delaying us."

"How far is that?"

He peered skyward as though assessing the position of the sun. "A few hours. Three at most."

Three hours in the sun sounded like a lot. She had gotten somewhat back into the habit of riding at Sanct de Sangre, but not for hours at a time, let alone in summer.

"Are you going to ride?" The thought was a daunting prospect, but so was three hours in the wagon alone with Silya. That was all too likely to turn into a three-hour lecture about why Chloe should repair her relationship with Lucien.

He nodded. "Might as well enjoy the fresh air. It gets monotonous, sitting in the wagon all day. I don't want to do that for weeks on end."

No, she couldn't blame him for that. He was used to being busy. He worked, if anything, too hard. Hours of inaction each day with only small amounts of estate business to think about when they received messages or mail wasn't going to keep him occupied.

When he'd been convalescing, he hadn't had the energy to protest the fact that she'd stopped him doing any work, but she couldn't imagine it was going to sit well with him over weeks of a journey. It wasn't something she was looking forward to either.

But maybe they would find Deandra and the troupe and be able to leave the wagons to their journey sooner than that.

But if they didn't, well, riding at least part of the day had to be preferable to being cooped up in the wagons.

Lucien was waiting for a reply.

"I haven't ridden that far in quite some time," she admitted.

"We won't be moving at a fast pace. It's a good way to build up your stamina," he suggested after a pause. "After all, whether you choose the wagon or a horse, you're going to be sore for the first few days until you get used to it."

She grimaced. "So it seems. At least the wagon doesn't bounce as much as a charguerre."

That earned her a quick smile.

"No," Lucien agreed. "They don't move fast enough for that. The charguerres move so quickly, they would rattle no matter how well designed. Not that knowing that makes it any more pleasant to experience."

No. She'd only ridden in a charguerre on the journey to Deephilm. It had been uncomfortable even at the slower pace caused by the mountainous terrain. It was a case of choosing the least bad option, perhaps. At least on a horse, she could probably avoid awkward conversations.

"Very well. Let's ride."

* * *

Riding turned out to be more pleasant than she'd anticipated. As Lucien promised, the pace was slow, and the chestnut mare chosen for her had a comfortable stride. And even if a horse was no faster than the wagon, the scenery was better.

Somehow the air didn't feel as hot from the back of a horse. Lucien had produced a broad-brimmed hat that kept the sun off her face, and she had managed to arrange her dress around the mare's side saddle. It wasn't her favorite way to ride, and she added a split habit to her mental list of clothing to buy.

After the first hour, a cooler breeze arrived, easing the worst of the heat. The landscape wasn't the most exciting she had ever traveled through—being mostly farmland full of sheep and huge black Miseneian cattle—but it was new. Lucien stayed close to her, riding a big bay gelding and offering comments about their route at odd intervals. The rest of the time, he was silent, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

The last time they'd ridden together was at Sanct de Sangre. Back then, they hadn't really spoken much either, Lucien still recovering and both of them avoiding discussing exactly what they should do about the marriage neither of them had planned on once it became clear that the quick divorce they had intended was no longer going to be possible.

It seemed like everything and nothing had changed since then.

She would have to talk to him sooner or later. But it seemed wise to let him have a few more days to get over the worst of his temper before she tried. Until then, she would keep some distance and distract herself with the travel.

By the time they reached the campsite where they were staying the night, she was glad to dismount and only half succeeded in not groaning as she did so, her legs and back and other more delicate parts protesting the time in the saddle.

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